


would you believe in a love at first sight? (yes, i'm certain that it happens all the time)

by blobfish_miffy



Series: i get high (with a lil help from mah fRENDS) [3]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: AND VERY HOT, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Flirting, Crush at First Sight, First Meetings, Gen, M/M, Male Friendship, Teenagers, and paul wants him, does he want him back? owo who knows, george is a bit of a slag, happy mclennon day yall, i guess, ivan is just an excited puppy, john is very handsome, lil help universe, paul discovers he is Very Gay, pre-ringo, undiscovered jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25118833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blobfish_miffy/pseuds/blobfish_miffy
Summary: “I’ll just go to the little concert on me own, then. I’ll see ‘im.”“Good idea. Tell me if the band’s worth anythin’, then. Or if any of the members are cute-”**Paul McCartney wasn’t pissed that his mate Ivan bugged him to go to the garden fete and then didn’t bother to show up on time. He also wasn’t pissed that Ivan - when he’d finally manage to haul his sorry arse to the right place - then surprised him with an audition for a band he didn’t evenlike.Thankfully, he discovered hedidlike something - or, rather, someone- else there.Or, The McLennon Meeting of the Lil Help Universe.Paul’s an anxious mess, George is a fuckin’ slag even over the phone, Ivan is a chaotic puppy, and John is Really Straight, Thank You Very Much.
Relationships: George Harrison & Paul McCartney, John Lennon & Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Paul McCartney, Paul McCartney & Ivan Vaughan
Series: i get high (with a lil help from mah fRENDS) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1425511
Comments: 19
Kudos: 52





	would you believe in a love at first sight? (yes, i'm certain that it happens all the time)

**Author's Note:**

> Note: It was very cold on the 6th of July 2015 in Liverpool. Please ignore that for the sake of the fic - Paul is a sweaty gross teenager.  
> Also _very much_ unbeta'ed. Whoops. Hope you enjoy!

**_6th of July, 2015_ **

**_16:45_ **

“I can’t believe ye can’t come,” Paul sighed into his Samsung, wiping the sweat from his brow. It was bloody hot, even in the shadow of the tree he was standing under, and he was thankful that he’d opted to leave his jacket - the fashionable white one mum had laid out for him to wear, to _“woo the lasses!”_ as she’d put it - at home. Carrying that one around for the rest of the evening would’ve been bloody shite, considering he was already carrying his guitar on his back as well. “I’m all alone ‘ere, can’t stand the crowd, and I can’t find Ive, either. He said he’d meet me before ‘e had to perform, but ‘parently not.”

_“Insisting ye should come and then not showing up himself sounds just like Ivan, honestly,”_ George answered. His voice sounded distorted, the connection not _that_ fantastic, and there was a pause. Paul was for a brief second convinced he’d lost him before George spoke up again. _“That arse.”_

Paul snorted. “Right. That’s Ivan for ya.”

_“You brought yer guitar too, you said?”_

“Yeah,” he sighed. “He insisted. Said I needed to meet someone an’ play for them for some godforsaken reason. This thing’s _heavy_ an’ I’m sweating like a bloody pig. _”_

_“I can only imagine how much you’re struggling.”_

“I’m in _pain,_ Georgie,” Paul continued, ignoring Geo’s snickering. “If only someone was ‘ere to help me carry my load-”

_“You **know** me folks. I’m grounded and they won’t let me out of their sight. Petey reckons it’s ‘cos I’m not sixteen yet-” _another brief pause, paired with yelling in the background. _“I’ll call ye what I’ll bloody well **like,** dick!”_

“Peter’s annoyed you called ‘im _Petey,_ again, huh?” Paul started walking, trying his best to find the familiar mop of dark hair somewhere in the ground. The fete was always busy because of its popularity, and though Paul loved it the fete itself, the pressing heat and the thick crowd still made it not his favourite place to be. At Georgie’s snickered _“yes”,_ he chuckled. “And why’s he still at home, and not 'ere? He’s an adult, ain’t he?”

_“Just a month or so,”_ George drawled back. _“He’s grounded as well. Got home even later than I did yesterday mornin’, absolutely hammered. Said ‘e was late ‘cos he got ‘is bike stolen. Couldn’t keep his balance either, so he held onto the coat rack when he took of his shoes. Managed to yank it out of the wall somehow. When ‘e fell he broke the bowl we keep the keys in - y’know, that floral one.”_

“Yer kiddin’.”

_“I’m not, he’s a bloody idiot.”_ Another snicker, followed by a loud _“ow!”_ and a _“don’t fuckin’ **touch** me-”. _Paul stopped walking again to step into the shade as he waited for George to start talking. He was sweating again and felt downright disgusting. _“Mum had a right fit when she saw the damage,”_ George said after a moment of cussing. _“He can’t leave the house under any circumstance ‘cept work for three weeks.”_

“Worse than yours,” Paul mused, patting his hair. _It’s starting to fall apart,_ he thought with a grimace, before resigning to his fate. He didn’t have a comb or a mirror with him, anyway. It’d have to do. “And I bloody _told_ ye to just sleep at mine, da’ would’ve covered for ye.”

_“I know that now, yeah.”_ Another pause. _“Git.”_

Paul cackled. “Wha’s that for?”

_“For not forcibly draggin’ me with ye,”_ was the reply. _“Seen Vaughan yet?”_

“You’d ‘ave struggled too much,” said Paul. “I’m a bad kidnapper, you know? And no, I haven’t. I’ll just go to the little concert on me own, then. I’ll see ‘im.”

_“Good idea. Tell me if the band’s worth anythin’, then. Or if any of the members are cute-”_

“Hazza, Jesus Christ-”

_“-also, could you buy a pie, if they’re still there? I’ll pay ye back, I promise, but if ye wanted to hang out tomorrow it’s better to suck up to me mam ‘n all.”_

Paul immediately caved in. He really _did_ want to see George - and more importantly, he wanted to see Louise. _“Fine,”_ he sighed, eyeing the pie stalls in the distance with a weird mix of distaste and longing.The way towards them didn’t have any shade whatsoever; he’d be drenched by the time he got to watch the performance of the _Quarrymates_ or whatever the fuck that band was called. “What’s she like? Pecan, right?”

_“Tha’s her favourite.”_ Someone yelled something; George replied with a quiet _“okay”. “Fuck, mate, I gotta go. Mum’s forcin’ me to help with tea ‘n all. I’ll pay you back, yeah?”_

“s’okay,” Paul said, now trekking towards the pie stands and eyeing the sun with distaste. “I’ll send ye the receipt ‘n everything, an’ updates on the band.”

_“I love you,”_ George made a some obnoxious kissing noises into his microphone, and Paul rolled his eyes with a fond chuckle. George was lovely and batshit, but that was what made him so great.

“Love you too, mate.”

_“See you!”_

The line went dead. Paul stuffed his phone in his back pocket, smiling, and walked a bit faster. George somehow never failed to cheer him up, no matter how shit he felt. And now, despite the weather, he’d adopted quite a brisk pace to get the pie he needed. 

_“Macca!”_

...Okay, so no pie just yet. 

Ivan jumped into his path with an excited grin, backpack slung over his shoulders. He looked like he’d been running, hair out of place, a red flush on his cheeks, and button down crumpled. Paul could see the fabric had soaked up the lad’s sweat near his collar and under his armpits, and decided that he would’ve offered deodorant if he’d had it on him. 

Then again, Iv had made him wait for an ungodly amount of time in the stifling heat, so maybe not. 

“Ivan,” he replied, deciding to at the very least say something resembling a _hi._ He wasn’t _that_ upset, really, just felt a bit uncomfortable in his black shirt. Besides, it was _way_ too hot to be rude. 

Ivan bounced in place. “Sorry for being late, mate. John had some issues he wanted to discuss before we were gonna perform, ‘n all-”

“...John?” Paul didn’t recall Ivan ever talking about a _John._ “He’s in the band?”

“The reason I wanted you to take yer guitar with you. He’s our leader!”

“Your… your _leader-”_

“Well, not really,” there was a moment of awkward silence as Ivan took his phone out of his back pocket to check his notifications. “He’s the one who started it all, y’know. The Quarrymen, then. So he seems to be bloody convinced to be our leader. Acts like it too.”

“Rules with an iron fist?”

“Yeah.” Ivan sent him a grin. “Basically.”

He was starting to feel a bit nervous. “And am I correct in assuming that he’s the fella you want me to play for?”

“Yeah!”

Paul blinked. 

Blinked again.

“Ivan,” he then said, stage fright coming on strong, “are you _nuts?”_

“That’s what my da’ asks me all the time!” Ivan answered, sounding way too cheery for someone whose father questions his sanity on the regular. “Anyway, not in this case. He’s a nice lad, I promise! You’ll like him!”

_“Will I?”_

“Yes!” Ivan punched him in the shoulder with a laugh. “Don’t be such a sceptic, son! Johnny’s a nice lad. He won’t bully ya- _well,_ that might not be the case-”

Paul felt like he was panicking, the air suddenly way more heavy than before. It pressed down on him, constricting his airway; he could barely breathe. He’d never been any _good_ at playing in front of people who he didn’t know that well. Even when around people he _did_ know well his fingers fumbled and knotted on the strings, jumbling chords and notes. Every single time he and George were practicing and the other Harrisons happened to be in the room as well, he would, time and time again and without fail, feel so uncomfortable he had to stop to take a breather. He’d known those people for _five years_ now. “You want me to play for ‘im, and you admit that he’ll _bully_ me?”

“It’s more auditioning, really, for the band.” Ivan seemed to have picked up on Paul’s less-than-calm state of mind and looked rightfully sheepish. “And he doesn’t really _bully,_ y’know? Just a bit o’ teasing, he’ll try to feel out of you’re tough enough-”

“I’m not- _auditioning?”_

“To become a member of the band ‘n all!” in a particularly desperate gesture, Ivan sank through his knees a little and spread his arms, raising his eyebrows hopefully. “Well? Will ye?”

Paul stared at his ridiculous mate with flared nostrils. Being a guitarist in a band had always been one of his dreams, and Ivan was handing him this opportunity on a silver platter. But if this _John_ was really as much of a dick as Ivan seemed to suggest he was, Paul was not sure if he’d be able to nail the audition. 

Paul sighed, glancing at the stands with the pies. There were less than before Ivan had jumped in his path, and he really needed to get one now. Furthermore, Ivan didn’t look like he’d give up anytime soon. He raised his left hand to his mouth in thought, chewing on the nail of his thumb, before giving in. _“Fine.”_

_“Really?”_ Ivan’s eyes got impossibly round, and he chuckled a little when Paul nodded. _“Well,_ that was easier than I thought it’d be.”

“Anyway, mate, have you got anythin’ else to announce?” he asked, shuffling in place. “I’ve got to buy a pie for Louise. If you don’t, shut yer gob and let me-”

Ivan visibly perked up at the mention of food. _“Pie?_ What kinda pie?”

“Pecan,” he answered with a sigh. “But-”

“I love pecan! Can ye get me some, too?”

_“Ivan.”_

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” He laughed again, ruffling his hair in embarrassment. “I’ll let you to it. You _will_ come watch the performance, right?”

“Of course.”

_“Ivan!”_ a person yelled from close to the makeshift stage. From what Paul could spot, they were carrying a guitar and wearing some kind of flannel - Paul guessed that had to be that John-guy. He was surrounded by other people carrying instruments. 

Ivan turned at the sound of his name and waved, before quickly looking over his shoulder to grin at Paul. “See ya mate, I’ll drag ye with me after the show!”

“Looking forward to it,” Paul answered, smiling as Ivan sprinted towards his mates. If Ive was _that_ excitement to play with the band, they couldn’t possibly be that bad, could they?

Okay, they kind of were.

Look, it wasn’t like the Quarrymen were _terrible._ The guy with the flannel, at least, was fucking fit and had a fantastic sense of rhythm. But the drummer and the bass player weren’t in tune with each other, and the bass player’s bass wasn’t in tune _period_. The tambourine player - who sometimes got out the maracas - usually kept to the basics, but sometimes went all out during extremely inappropriate times in a song. And out of the two guitarists, one was a beginner at _best,_ limiting himself to four chords only without any creativity in his playing. The most creative player apart from the guy with the flannel Paul concluded to be Ivan.

Ivan, bless him, was playing the goddamn _kazoo._

The way the hot one with the flannel played was intriguing though; he appeared to be using chords on his guitar that Paul didn’t recognise as guitar chords, and they vaguely reminded him of what he tried to play when George attempted to teach him ukulele a few weeks back. And above all, John - or whatever the fuck the fella’s name was - was apparently making up lyrics to these classics _on the spot,_ which was _incredible;_ Paul, by contrast, would probably break down sobbing if he ever fucked up a lyric in front of a crowd. 

Paul stared and stared and _stared_ at Flannel-guy for the entirety of the 30-minute set, embarrassingly enough zeroing in on the lad’s bobbing throat whenever he chugged some of his beer between songs and that wet bottom lip whenever he smiled as he sang. The jawline, the hair, the mouth, and the Adam’s apple made his entire body tingle, and he almost couldn’t wait to have those sharp eyes focus on him and him alone - and yet he was also scared. If the lad would tease him he’d undoubtedly get flustered, and that wasn’t something he wanted because that was _embarrassing_ and he wanted to look _cool_ and _hot_ to this beautiful stranger. 

The set was over far too quickly. Paul would’ve felt disappointed if Hot Flannel Boy hadn’t bended over to grab something off the stage and offered Paul a gorgeous view of his arse; the sight almost made his mouth water and Paul inhaled sharply through his nose, overcome by the urge to poke the bum of a lad he was yet to see up close. He locked eyes with Ivan, who nodded kindly at him, and he nodded back. The brown paper bag holding Louise’s pecan pie - _ten quid_ for a fuckin’ pie had hurt both his soul and his wallet, but he figured it was worth it - felt heavy in his hand, and he clutched it a bit closer to his chest as the nerves started to settle in his belly. Only a little while now, and he would have to audition for one of the most attractive blokes he’d ever laid eyes on without cocking up. 

_God,_ if only he had George with him to annoy the fears away-

The Quarrymen slowly left the stage, helping each other clean up quite quickly and swiftly before disappearing and making space for the next musical act of the afternoon - some bird in a pretty dress getting ready to sing, backed by a band who _didn’t_ look uncomfortable holding their instruments. It didn’t take long for Ivan to find him, skipping towards him with a smile. 

“Well?” he asked over the bird’s singing, grabbing Paul’s shoulder to maneuver him towards wherever the fuck his audition would be held. “What did ye think?”

Paul couldn’t help but smile. “Not bad. ‘specially liked the kazoo - backing up that singer with it was a clever touch.”

“Well we all know I can’t hold a tune to save me life, but I can play some mean kazoo.” Ivan plucked the instrument out of his back pocket with flourish, waving it around and accidentally almost shoving it up Paul’s nose. “Johnny always sings the wrong lyrics, so I gotta mask that somehow - _don’t tell ‘im I called him Johnny.”_

“He doesn’t like that?”

Ivan shrugged. “He shoved a lad into ditch for callin’ him ‘Johnny’. Reckon ‘e doesn’t. He just gets angry easily, y’know, not that big of a deal-”

“He shoved a kid into a _ditch?” Fuck’s sake,_ that sounded violent. “That lad with the flannel an’ the nice arse? _That’s_ John? You want me to audition fer a hot dude with anger management issues?”

They reached the doors to the church hall, and Ivan paused, hand leaning on the hardwood. “I didn’t wanna scare ye off, but I gotta say this,” he said lowly. “Lennon’s… he’s complicated. Not-so-nice childhood, right? He seems really chill ‘n all, but if ye ask me, he can’t control ‘is fucking emotions and lashes out from time to time. When he’s yer mate, it’s fantastic, and he’ll stick to ye like glue, but when you’re not…”

“You’re in deep shite. Got it.”

“Basically. He’ll torment ye. And,” Ivan continued, “he’s not… he ain’t queer. Or insists ‘e isn’t, anyway. Always acts weird and aggressive when lads mention he’s handsome. So don’t- for _your_ sake, Macca, _don’t_ flirt with ‘im. Or somethin’.”

“Ive,” Paul sighed, feeling only a little bit insulted, “I’m not a _slag-”_

“I know yer not, but I just wanted ye to _know.”_ Ivan’s dark eyebrows knitted together. “I’m serious, mate. He’s brilliant, he’s fire, but he’s a dick. Don’t let that scare you off.” A pause. “I, like, _really_ want you in the band. Maybe they’ll bully _you_ ‘stead of me.” And with those words, he grinned, wide and happy, and pushed the doors open. “It’ll be fun!”

Paul felt _very_ anxious now. _“Ivan-”_

“Oh look, there they are! _Hey lads!”_

He was met by a chorus of teenage-boy voices, and Paul wrinkled his nose at the strong stench of cigarette smoke and beer. He didn’t really know why he had such an adverse reaction to cigarettes - he himself smoked at times, and bars smelt the exact same.

“About damn time you arrived, Vaughan. Just fuckin’ disappeared on us, did ye? Brought the lad?”

“Sorry,” Ivan laughed, and he grabbed Paul by the shoulder to drag him closer to the group. One kid with big ears that kind of reminded him of George - the one who seemed to be a beginner on the guitar - observed him casually with crossed arms, and the tambourine player stood behind Hot Flannel Guy with a large grin. Paul felt intimidated. “Anyroad, this is Paul. McCartney. He’s a classmate of mine, plays the guitar like a pro.”

Paul shoved down his nerves, glanced around the group, and smiled. “Hey.”

“He looks like a _bird,”_ the drummer drawled from his spot next to Hot Flannel Guy. He was slouching, arms crossed and legs stretched, judging him from head to toe. “Look at those _eyebrows_ \- you pluck ‘em, son?”

Ivan visibly cringed. “Colin-”

“I don’t,” he shot back, trying not to show how insulted he was. He was always compared to a _bird,_ god-fucking-dammit, and it would always be annoying. “What about you, then? Drew that stubble on, mate?”

The corner of Colin’s mouth quirked up and his eyes twinkled. “Yeah. It just won’t fuckin’ grow in.”

And somehow _that_ broke the ice. The guitarist with the large ears enthusiastically introduced himself as ‘Eric’ and gestured for him to sit down. The tall blonde boy who played the tambourine said his name was ‘Pete’, and the bass player called himself ‘Len’. Only John hadn’t introduced himself by the time Paul had his guitar on his lap and gotten everybody to huddle around him. Paul assumed he didn’t think it necessary, that the lad probably thought Ivan had already introduced him behind his back, but Paul was itching to put a voice to that face. 

John was more intimidating up close and, if possible, even more handsome. Paul resisted the urge to stare too much and bent over his guitar, fiddling with tuning pegs.

“You left handed?”

It was the tall blond guy, Pete, who had spoken. Paul nodded. “Looks a bit odd, with the neck turned this way, don’t it?”

“If it works.” Colin leaned towards him with a grin. “So, then, _Paul._ What can ye play?”

“Some stuff,” the tuning was perfect, now. “Most pop songs are jus’ the same chords, anyway, but made a bit fancier for the necessary difference. What would ye like to hear?”

Ivan hit the back of his head excitedly. “Play Wake Me Up! You can do that electronic part really well!”

“It’s called a _beat drop,_ Ive,” Eric started, but Paul had already started to strum. 

It went easier than he thought it would, the chords flowing out of his fingertips as if he was _made_ to play them. He even started singing after some very noticeable pokes in the shoulder from Ivan and breezed through the _“beat drop”._ When they yelled at him to play something more old fashioned as he neared into the end of the song he smoothly launched into Georgie’s go-to, Roll Over Beethoven, and played it on muscle memory alone. It was delightful to play something reasonably difficult that he was fully comfortable with, and seeing lads older than him go absolutely mental over his _“insane skills, mate!”._

John seemed equally as impressed, sharp eyes narrowed on his right hand. “How do you do that?” he demanded, leaning in a bit closer and sticking out a finger, almost as if he wanted to swat at it like a cat. “What’s that one?”

“The notes that make sense.” Paul answered, shooting him a grin when John glanced up to glare at him. He was already reaching the outro and felt more than pleased by the results. “It’s an A, and now it’s a D.”

Eric poked John in the shoulder. “That’s wha-”

“Griffiths, you bastard-”

“...that’s what she said.”

_“Griffy.”_

The lad just laughed.

Paul finished not too long after, excitement of an audition well-done thrumming through his veins. The boys were all clapping him on the shoulder, obviously impressed, but John sat back with that mean glare and crossed his arms. Everyone quieted down. Though he was now certain that he’d fucked something up, Paul tried not to show his nerves and met the glare head-on.

“So ye can play,” John stated, gaze flicking from Paul’s right hand to face. “And you’re not bad.”

“I’m not bad, no.”

“Not sure I like yer confidence there, son.”

“Would you rather ‘ave me say I’m shite?”

John’s lips then curled into a genuine smile and he threw his head back to giggle at the ceiling. The tension in the room, one Paul had not even noticed before, dissipated swiftly, the other boys physically relaxing and giggling along. Ivan had been right: John _was_ the leader of his little gaggle of musicians, and where he went, they followed.

Either way, Paul was relieved to see that John wasn’t going to eat him alive after all. And when John leaned forward to pat his knee and whisper _“if ye want to, you’re in”,_ he could barely contain his happiness – nor the blush threatening to erupt across his face at the physical contact and the sight of that pleased grin directed at him alone.

It all was a whirlwind from there on out. Ivan excitedly clapped him on the shoulder, Len – the bass player – immediately inquired whether he was available for their 8pm performance, and Colin shoved a beer in his right hand and a lit cigarette in the other. Pete then proceeded to shove John a bit closer, whispering something in his ear, and Paul couldn’t even _believe_ his luck when the handsome, cool, probably kind of drunk kid in the flannel asked him shyly to explain some of the chords he just played.

“It’s simple, really,” Paul muttered when they’d migrated to a more secluded corner. John had grabbed his guitar and was currently in the process of tuning the thing correctly. He’d been playing _banjo chords,_ because those were the only chords he really knew how to play, and had tuned his guitar to fit – it was why he hadn’t been using the top two strings at all. “I’m sure ye don’t need me to explain it-”

“No, but I _do,”_ John locked his phone – he used a fuckin’ _tuning app –_ and raised his eyebrows. “I’m shite an’ absolutely not gonna look up tutorials on YouTube, y’know. Teach me.”

Paul’s throat was very dry when he swallowed, and he shot John a smile. “I figured it out using a chord book I nicked from George.”

_“George?”_

“Me best mate,” he positioned his fingers to form a D and plucked nervously at the strings. “He’s a lot better than me, honestly. He listens to a song and has the basics down in ten minutes – takes me at least half an hour, the bastard.”

“Ah.” A pause. “And why didn’t he- why didn’t he come with?”

“He’s grounded. And fifteen.” _And probably would’ve tried to shag a bandmember._ His best mate was a fuckin’ _slag._ “Ive figured you lot probably considered that too young.”

John exhaled loudly through his nose and bit down on his bottom lip. “I- _we do,_ actually.” Another pause. “What’s that one?”

“What? _Oh,”_ he strummed it fully, now. “It’s the D-major chord.”

John squinted at his hand before looking back at his own, positioning his fingers as such and strumming. “Like this?”

“That’s it!”

He strummed it again with a kind of satisfied smile, looking impossibly handsome again. Paul was itching to flirt with him, maybe get him a bit hot and bothered – but Ivan’s warning rung through his memory, and he refrained from trying to woo the lad. He didn’t really fancy a black eye from the lad he wanted to shag five minutes after meeting, thank you very much.

“Hey Paul?” beery breath wafted over his face as John leaned in close, and Paul damn near trembled. Under any other circumstance – and coming from any other person – he would’ve found it disgusting, but John, from the dead-ends of his quiff ‘till the last tendrils of his breath on Paul’s nose, was unbelievably attractive. Even his heavy, powdery-smelling cologne mixed with the strong scent of ciggies was delightful; when John decided to scoot his chair close enough for their knees to touch, Paul, for a brief moment, was convinced had died and gone to heaven.

“Hm?” He was so goddamn lucky his voice didn’t crack.

“I’ve got another question for ye.”

“Ask away.” In a desperate attempt to look casual, he switched over to the A-minor chord, and then to the C; John followed suit. At this rate, the lad would be able to play a Brian May solo within a fortnight. He was a talented bastard, it appeared. “Is it another chord?”

“No it’s… I just have to ask this, real quick.” John’s eyes flicked over to his bandmates, and if Paul didn’t know any better he’d have guessed John was _nervous._ Which was weird, because he couldn’t have been in a more comfortable environment. After a second or two of staring his gaze returned to Paul, and he lowered his voice. “Will ye… will ye stay tonight? To watch our last performance? It’s at eight, and I reckon ye don’t want to be there ‘cos we’re _shite,_ but-”

Paul gently patted John’s knee to get his attention and to get him to shut up. It apparently worked perfectly. “I’ll stay,” he said quietly, feeling almost a bit triumphant when John visibly seemed to perk up a bit. “You’re _shite,_ yeah, but I suppose it’ll be fun. I’ll have to get home afterwards though, have got a pie I gotta get into the fridge.”

“Cool,” was the casual answer, and John smoothed his hand over the sides of his hair a little. “That’s… that’s cool, I guess. Ye don’t _have_ to come, ‘course.”

“’Course,” Paul echoed with a smile. “I don’t. But I want to.”

That reply almost coaxed another smile from John. He just glanced back down to his guitar instead before biting his lip again and tapping the back of Paul’s hand with his index finger. “Okay, somethin’ else. What about- what about that Avicii song? Wake Me Up? How’d you start that one?”

“It’s a B-minor, a bar-chord. I’m not sure if you’ll get it right immediately, but it’s worth trying-”

**Private Messages**

**Hazza _+44 7*** ******_**

**_21:44_ **

_U:_ oh my god

_U:_ Georgie he's so godsamn hot

_U:_ I have the pie and everything but oh my God he's so hot

_U:_ his arse

_U:_ George his arse

_U:_ it's perfect. it's gorgeois

_U:_ he plays banjo chords on guitar fkr some reason but he's so so cUTE and hot and finny and jesus am I in love? is this waht loves feels like? is this it? he smiled at me and I swear to god mate my heart jumped right out of myc hest and my dick suddenly ebcame sentient

_U:_ I wanna lick whipped vream off his belly but I also wanna cuddle him and pet his hair and watch a James Bond movie with him while we're in cotton oynamas

_U:_ pyjamas

_U:_ he cohld step on me and I'd thank him

_U:_ and I got his goddamn number just before leaving. I think I might cry. 

**_21:49_ **

_Hazza:_ are you

_Hazza:_ are you drunk

_U:_ just a smigde

_U:_ smigde

_U:_ smigde

_U:_ dammit

_Hazza:_ aw fuck you man

_Hazza:_ of course I’m fucking grounded while you’re out there living your best life

_Hazza:_ and staring at a hot guys arse

_Hazza:_ also, who /is/ the hot guy anyway

_U:_ Georgie shouldn't have been fuvking grounded then should he have

_Hazza:_ that’s YOUR fault. fuck you.

_U:_ fuck YOU

_U:_ he's called Jihn Lennon by the way

_Hazza:_ … John, right? 

_U:_ that's what I saud

_Hazza:_ aight lemme do my detective work

**_22:03_ **

_Hazza:_ went to Calderstones, might go to art college in the near future

_Hazza:_ also Calderstones used to be called "Quarry Bank" which is where the incredibly creative name of his band comes from

_Hazza:_ his insta handle is even more creative. "johnlennon97"

_Hazza:_ if we're gonna be friends with 5+3 las he's gotta step up his game, man

_Hazza:_ also facebook says he's single

**_22:07_ **

_U:_ HE'S SINGLE

_Hazza:_ and hot, you were right.

_Hazza:_ is he into lads?

_U:_ :(

_U:_ prettynsure he's not

_U:_ Ivvy said he doesn't like being called (a) queer

_U:_ gets a bit aggressive

_U:_ and yet I still wanna be inna very queer and gay relationship with him

_Hazza:_ ah shit man

_Hazza:_ be careful then, please

_Hazza:_ and I wanna meet him

_U:_ I was gonna ask what you inplied with "we" in "we're gonna be friends" 

_Hazza:_ and now you’re not?

_Hazza:_ glad you remembered were a package deal

_Hazza:_ hope you didn't eat the pie yet?

**_22:18_ **

_U:_ just got home. Did NOT do that

_U:_ are you proud of me baby

_Hazza:_ very proud

_Hazza:_ now brush your teeth and go to sleep. I want you here fresh tomorrow

_U:_ so demanding

_Hazza:_ kinky

_U:_ ffs haz

**_22:29_ **

_U:_ in bed now

_Hazza:_ ohhhh

_Hazza:_ are you tucked in? gonna have sweet dreams?

_U:_ of fuckin course??

_Hazza:_ H O T

_U:_ what do you take me for

_U:_ oh my god

_Hazza:_ :)

_Hazza:_ sweet dreams then, baby

_Hazza:_ dream of that arse

_Hazza:_ I might too

_U:_ you haven't even seen the arse

_Hazza:_ but I’m dreaming of it

_U:_ Haz

_Hazza:_ yea?

_U:_ I call dibs on the arse

_Hazza:_ shit man

_Hazza:_ hmpf

_Hazza:_ we’ll just see about that.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there!!  
> I sincerely hoped you liked it. I was a little _late_ for the anniversary considering I can only write in the evenings or at night, when my parents should be sleeping, because I apparently am an _adult_ and have _responsibilities_ and all that crap. But, considering it's about 3AM here in Belgium, I know it's still the 6th _somewhere_.  
> And yet, I finished. Somehow. Applause for me.  
> Anyway, also a happy birthday to Ringo whose absence shines oh-so brightly in this fic. I hope I _will_ be on time for him, lol. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are very much appreciated (and very much motivational!)


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